The Tactician's Journal
by The Blundering Writer
Summary: Well...I had wanted to make my own take on the tactician post-game...I hope that it is alright...Not really any spoilers, and it is set in a sort of different verse...FE:TBS Previously known as: A Tactician's Lament. Ch2 re-written!
1. Chapter 1

A Tactician's Lament

I, The Blundering Writer, do not own Fire Emblem. I would like to though.

* * *

Lyndis...No, Lyn. I have always thought that name suited her better.

It has been a while since I have seen all of them, Lyndis's Mercenaries, Eliwood's band of warriors. I wish that I could travel back to those days, where I would see her smile again...But I made this choice to go away myself, go to the Plains that she loves so much, in hopes that maybe she would miss them, and travel there.

Last I heard, she was being courted to Eliwood. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had led his forces wrongly. Would I have the courage to lead a man to his death? WOuld I have had the courage to send my group knowingly to their doom?

No, I couldn't. I did not have the courage to kill, unlike the troops that I have led into battle. So I have led him and his forces truthfully, taking great pains to keep all of them alive. I know that a small part of me still regrets that.

I wasn't one of the fighters, nor am I a hero, but I still wish I was remembered by all. I wish I could have fought, maybe then I would have had a chance. I wished to protect, with my own two hands.

They made me feel special, but I felt like they were trying to humor me, trying to lessen the fall back into obscurity. To me, it was only made worse. I would have rather they treated me with indifference, instead of like something I have lost long ago; Family. To them, we would have stayed together, I would have taken care of their children, maybe have a few of my own...Lead the occasional battle...But I knew better.

I was useless, obsolete. A tactician was a luxury that many people take for granted. The people respected a noble that could fight and plan at the same time, not one that had someone do the thinking for them. So I asked for one last favor from Merlinus, the merchant, and I bought  
myself a wagon and tent. I was leaving Lycia.

I did not say good-bye. It would have been too painful for me to have faced them. A useless formality, as I have never seen anyone visit. It was like they have forgotten me.

I live alone, even far from the wandering villages of Sacrae. I do not want to be a tactician anymore, I never came to my final destination of the Tactician's Guild.

What use is a tactician that would not even lead troops? I laugh at myself whenever I think about it. Tactics were my life, I would stay up at all hours to study tactics long almost forgotten, taking them into my head.

It was all I had. My family had cast me out when I showed signs of deviating from what they had expected of me. I was to follow in my father's footsteps and become a merchant, one that would lead to fortune. I had chosen tactician instead, the only-born son among sisters. I hadn't regretted it until I moved out of Lycia.

I now live in obscurity, alone out in the fields that I had thought so beautiful. I feel empty, unfulfilled.

Alone, and the wind echoes my thoughts.

* * *

News comes slowly in the plains, though I don't normally speak much. I had been restocking on my provisions, when I heard. Lyn of Caelin and Eliwood of Pherae were to be wed. I paid for my supplies, and left.

I hardly felt anything at the news, it was almost as if I had already expected it long ago. I knew that she was untouchable by the likes of me, a thrown-away, obsolete, thing of a cast-out merchant child. It would have been nice to be in the know though, even though I knew that I was asking for something almost completely impossible. I knew that I would never have caught her serious affections. I was more like a brother, a family friend, to her. It would have been nice to see the wedding though. I bet it would be a grand spectacle...

* * *

My solitary life had been broken.

I was taken out of my shell of a tent by a young girl, searching for a wise sage that could heal her father. While I knew that the adults of the Plains knew that I had no mystical powers, the younger generation believed that I knew something.

I guess in a way, they were right. Just not in healing.

The girl shyly, but quickly runs inside my tent, and drags me away by the sleeve, chattering quickly, obviously with nervousness and urgency.

"Please," she begs, "please save my daddy!" As she drags me to her tribe's gathering, I take a better look at her. She was obviously younger than I was, around seven years old, and her skin was slightly tanned. She had dark blue hair that came down to her shoulders, and dark green eyes that were reddening with tears shed and to be shed. She wore a bright red cloak, underneath was a teal dress with a red trim on the skirt. I would have thought her a strange sight if I didn't know better. She takes me to a gathering of tents around two day's distance from my tent.

She brings me into a tent, and pointed to her father. He was lying there on a cat with a large gash across his chest. His form was gasping for air, making deep, rasping noises. The girl urged me to do something, but I knew that I could do nothing. The only thing I had was a vial of elixir, saved from a time ago. I gave the man the whole three doses, in hopes that I may help ease the pain of his suffering. Surprisingly, it worked, if only slightly. I had always regarded vulneraries and the like with some degree of skepticism, but I had never seen their effects for myself. I resolved to carry at least one vulnerary and one elixir with me at all times. I wondered why someone did not just go buy one of these strange concoctions from a store themselves, instead of resorting to asking someone who most people you knew avoided...

As the man thanks me, and I say my farewells, I hear the villlagers gossip. It seemed that the man's would was not unique to that day. It seemed that the bandits were getting more and more bold, because of the fall of many powerful guilds. The began raiding villages, taking all they could and killing everyone except those they can sell. The mercanaries they tried to hire seemed to not be able to work, as they were disorganized and they clashed. They also raided merchant trains, explaining the lack of supplies in stores.

Wasn't truely my problem, I didn't want to get involved with bandits, or fighters, again.

* * *

And that is A Tactician's Lament! I hope that it isn't too short...I wanted to make this a one-shot, but now I want to make it several chapters...Maybe I'll compromise.


	2. Chapter 2

A Tactician's Rebirth

I, The Blundering Writer, do not own Fire Emblem, only my OCs.

* * *

They came in the dead of night, destroying everything in their path. I was still in the village when it had happened. I was one of the first to hear the screams in the night. I quickly gathered my supplies, ready to give them to the fighters, or the survivors, if they still remained. I open the door to the makeshift inn/tent that I was staying at to see a massacre. Everywhere, bandits felled Plains People, only carrying away the young women to who-knows-where. I try to search for anyone who could serve as a make-shift army, but anyone strong enough to even put up a meager fight was already cut down into pieces. I search around, picking up a thin lance, and I went off into the battle.

I hope to rescue at least one person from this massacre, this horror in the night.

* * *

This was one of the few times I have ever picked up a weapon, since I was thrown out of my family. It was more for show than use, but I still took it with me into the fray.

I search diligently hoping for some spark of life, stabbing into the general direction of a bandit every now and then, but I see no signs of life until I reach the final tent. It was the old man from before, wielding a hatchet against the bandits. The girl, his daughter, was hiding behind him, trying to blend in with his body. I try to rush to their aid, but was engaged by a random Myrmidon. I try to run, but he relentlessly struck the lance, almost cutting through it when his head was struck with a thrown ax. It was the old man, a good eye on his part, though proving fatal. A Soldier appears suddenly, stabbing him in the back and through the chest. I rush up and dispatch the Soldier, taking note that his armor held the insignia of the Black Fang for some reason. I had thought that they had all dispersed. By now the bandits have left us alone, for one reason or another, and had moved on to the other parts of the camp. I try to move the spear, but the man's hand stops me.

"I thank you..." he rasps, his voice tinged with a death rattle, "but I am already dead. Please..." He falters, then takes my arm and pulls me closer.

"Please..." he continues, "T-t-take care of my d-d-dau-daug-daughter...My..." His eyes then close, and his pulse stops. Those were his last words. I see his daughter lying over him, trying to wake him up, slapping his face, babbling words quietly to him. I do nothing to stop her. I quickly moved to sift through the rubble trying to find supplies that can be useful in our flight from Sacrae. I pocket a picture of her family, one that consisted of her father, mother, and herself. I take her in my arms, and carry her back to my tent, finding a horse that was too weak for the bandits to decide to steal. We left the ruins by sundown and was on the way to a safer place.

Castle Pherae, home of the Marquess Eliwood and Princess Lyndis.

* * *

I learned her name was Freilia, though her father called her Fray. Her old man was the leader of the village and her mother had died when she was born, though her father had said that she looked just like her. I kept her talking through the journey to the border, stopping to rest for the night or to eat a meal. A few days away from the border, we stop in a small village, one that was losing many supplies like the villages around it. They tried to hire mercenaries, but they were all cut down before could even arrive, being picked off one-by-one by teams of bandits. There were only two people in that village that knew anything about fighting, though the both of them were apprentices. Fray and I both check into the same inn that the apprentice mercenaries were staying, to see if I could work with the both of them.

The first one was a Pegasus Rider, it seems that those kinds of horses only accept females for riders. Her name was Cassandra, a Mercenary-in-Training. She was just sitting there, nervously twirling her straight, long, crimson hair, her bright red eyes just shifting nervously, the firelight of the inn making shadown on her lean, pale frame. Her armor was well used, consisting of a leather shoulder plate and chest plate on top of a dark shirt and an armor skirt.

The other Mercenary was a swordsman-in-training. He was wearing the same chest and shoulder plate, though bigger to fit his tanned, muscular frame, and was wearing a patched, dark blue tunic along with a pair of dark blue trousers. His hair was swept calmly, with a dark red bandanna over most of his dark brown hair and his green eyes first turned to inspect me, then my charge.

"What do ya want?" he growled to both Fray and I, "If ya need someone to hire for protection, we're just apprentices. The band left a while ago to deal with the bandits and they haven't come back." I will assume that the both of them already knew what happened to the other mercenaries. As I look them over, I am thinking to myself that they aren't enough to defeat the bandits.

"I am sorry to bother you then," I reply, and I walk off. Fray had decided to linger and I let her. I did not see any harm that would come from that, though I would make sure to pick her up before retiring. I did not want her to be running around when I can not.

* * *

There was a loud crash through the night, and I see the familiar blaze of flames and familiar screams of terror. It seems that the bandits weren't satisfied from plundering from the merchants so they went into town. I wonder what had caused this mass genocide of the Plains People through bandits, though I knew the answer could wait. I look around for Fray, to discover that she was missing! She must have either hidden, or went out to try to help fight the bandits.

I hoped that she hid. I did not want to break my word to a dead man.

* * *

I hope that this is a bit better than the old chapter two...I really didn't like the previous chapter two very well, and so I decided to work on this one...


	3. Chapter 3

The First Skirmish

As usual I, The Blundering Writer, do not own Fire Emblem. Only my OCs.

* * *

The familiar smoke of flames choked me yet again, and I knew that this was going to be similar to that night, all those nights ago. This time, though, I have another head to look after. I hope that she went hiding somewhere safe, or that she hid at all, and is not out there trying to 'avenge' her father against bandits, even though these were probably a different group. I take my thin lance, which was leaning against the wall, and run out into another fight hoping that I would survive this one as well.

* * *

Out on the field, I saw slightly less destruction, though the town was still burning to the ground. There weren't many bodies lying dead on the ground, though I could still see a bath of blood. I search everywhere, trying to find Fray and escape from the destruction. That is when I hear a scream. I head in that direction to see the Mercenary and Cassandra trying to repel a bandit and behind them, huddled and crying was Fray. I try to run over there, to try to assist them, but I was dealt an arrow to the shoulder, and I cried out. I still kept going, numb to the eventual pain that was in my shoulder. I then aim to stab the bandit from behind, as he was distracted by the two in front of him, and my spear hit its mark. As the bandit fell, Fray runs towards me. She then tries to hide within the folds of my robe, hugging into my lean form. I try to hold her closer, but I was still holding onto the thin spear. Suddenly, a yell sounded in the distance, and I could see bandits falling slowly to a strange fighter. He was extremely muscular, with a strange helmet that had bull's horns pointing forward. He was waving an ax, dark red with blood, and was felling the enemies left and right.

I did not know if he was friend or foe, and I did not want to stay to find out.

* * *

I lifted Fray and carried her in my arms to try to find a safe place to hide until the fight was over, but everywhere there were bandits or flames. The berserker was running closer still, taking out more bandits. The two mercenary apprentices were still there, fighting off hordes of bandits. I assumed they did not see the hulking figure running closer, a task in which I fathom at.

"W-where are we going to go?" Fray asks, stuttering quietly, "I feel so t-tired..."

"I don't really know," I answer her back, "I guess we'll find something to hide in..." I try to search for anything that could serve as a shelter, but I see nowhere safe. By this time, I look back to see that the Berserker and the other two mercenaries were missing. I didn't really care what had happened to them, but I felt unsettled nonetheless. That is when I see a throwing ax land near the two of us.

"Hey!" shouts out a rough voice, "I found some survivors here! I think they're tryin' ter escape!"

"Well kill 'em," calls back another voice, "We're leaving now, so just do it quick and catch up!" The bandit smiles menacingly, and advances on the both of us slowly, relishing the chance to kill. I hold up the thin lance in defence, though I doubt it would do much damage against him. I lay Fray down so she would be able to run quickly, and I charge towards him, lance ready to spear him in the chest. He switches to a steel ax, and runs towards me, jumping in the air in a twirling downward strike for more force.

Miraculously, I was able to command myself to roll out of the way just avoiding the strike. The ax embeds itself into the ground, and the bandit tries to pull it out. He seemed to forget that he had several throwing axes. I take this chance to try to land a strike on him and succeeded in piercing his arm, though I did no noticable damage.

"Yer gonna pay for that chicken scratch there boyo," he growls at me, and then he remembers that he was right between Fray and me. He seems to remember his throwing axes, and he switches to the weapons, leaving his steel ax stuck in the ground. I watch helplessly as he goes through the familiar motions of throwing those small, well-balanced axes in the dorection of Fray. I closed my eyes, praying for some divine intervention when I hear the sound of metal on flesh and a scream from the bandit instead of Fray. I open my eyes just in time to see the bandit rasp his last breath as another throwing ax had buried itself into his abdomen. My first instinct is to run and hold Fray as close as I could to my lean form, as tired as I was. I then look around to try to see where the ax had come from, and if the person throwing it was friend or foe.

It had come from the Berserker from earlier, though now he was followed by both the Pegasus Knight and the Mercenary. My eyes could have teared right then and there if not for the fact that I was exausted. I could see the pale sun rise from the hills far away, slowly bringing in light to the pale blue above. It would have been a beautiful sight if not for all the death and rubble that had appeared that night.

"Ey!" calls out the Berserker, "Are the two of ye alright? I didna miss, did I?" I could have laughed in relief right then and there. I wave my arms to show that the both of us were alright, and I try to stand up, not a simple task with exaustion clinging onto me like Fray was clinging to my leg at that time.

* * *

I feel like I'm getting worse and worse at writing...I hope that this is not true...


End file.
